


The Curious Case of Miss Christine Watson (and Toby the Dog)

by puttingonmytophat (Inka_Clover)



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: F/M, I had a dream, Idiots in Love, Sherlock is a softie inside, Sherlock is a sucker for nice girl, Some pining, Writing Exercise, and she has a dog Toby, and she's John's cousin, don't hate me, no seriously it was lovely, trying to do Victorian thing, ummm...more tags as they come to me?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2018-09-06
Packaged: 2019-07-02 21:44:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15805164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inka_Clover/pseuds/puttingonmytophat
Summary: John Watson' cousin has to move in to Baker Street after death of her guardian and changes things around.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Soo... It kind of started as a dream or a fragment of a dream and became a Thing? It's Victorian Holmes and mostly writing exercise but I hope you like it nonetheless:)

Over two years into my cohabitation with Holmes, news have reached me that were to change our lives forever, in the most umaginable way possible.

"Dear Lord!" I exclaimed, reading letter brought to me in the morning post.

"What is it, Watson?" Asked my friend, bend over one of his experiments.

"It's a letter from my cousin, Christine. It seems that my uncle Edward is on his deathbed." I explained, reading the words written in pretty, girlish handwriting and showing good humour despite bleak circumstances surrounding it, so typical of my dearest cousin.

"Then there is nothing for you but to visit him, dear Watson" remarked Sherlock absentmindedly.

"That is not all, my friend" I sighed, wondering how to explain my current predicament. Showing his uncommon for him courtesy, the detective had raised his head away from his experiment to look at me with sharp eyes.

"You worry about your cousin's future then?" He pointed out, as always, astonishing me.

"Holmes, how did you..." I exclaimed but didn't get to finish my question.

"I thought it was rather obvious that you shall bring her here" he remarked. When I was about to protest, he waved his hand in the air, mind and eyes already returning to his microscope. "There is place enough, and surely, yours and Mrs Hudson presence guarantees that young lady's virtue and good opinion will remain intact?"

How did he know that I was Christine's remaining family member, I do not know nor was he clearly in a mood to explain. To him case was closed, nothing left to do but to inform our landlady.

"Besides, you made it quite clear publicly how much matters of matrimony are of no significance to me. I assure you, there is nothing to worry about" he added.

How does the saying goes? Ah, yes, those were famous last words. But I am getting ahead of the story, dear reader.

*

I managed to arrive in time enough to my uncle's side to assure him of Christine's future safety and say my goodbyes. My cousin herself was extremely organised and after only two weeks of my stay, unnecessary items were sold, house and servants were prepared for a new tenant, funeral conducted and lady herself packed in three valises, one of which carried books and few heirlooms left to her as well as a dog. Here, despite my hesitant attempts to discourage her, my well-natured cousin had put her foot down.

Toby, she explained, was her dearest friend and she was not leaving her beloved dog for nothing in the world. Beloved dog himself was an "ugly, long haired, lop-eared creature, half spaniel and half lurcher, brown and white in colour with a very clumsy waddling gait"*, short to say, not an ideal companion for a young lady. However, love berween him and his mistress was almost tangible and clear to see, therefore, knowing her stubborn streak, I have said nothing, in my mind creating arguments for the creature stay which I would have to present to Holmes and Mrs Hudson.

We have arrived back at Baker Street in early afternoon and were welcomed by none other than Holmes himself, who was cheerful in a way that could only mean one thing: a case was awaiting us.

"Ah, Watson, excellent, we have no time to loose!" He exclaimed, striding into hall and coming to a stop.

Here, perhaps, I should tell you a little bit more about Miss Christine Watson. She was a cousin on my father side, orphaned at an early age and send from one family member to another, as it tends to, unfortunately, happen to parentless children in families of medium fortune. She was not what you, reader, would call a beautiful woman in standards set by the ton, not even handsome, due to her small height, but she was nonetheless pretty, with her large golden eyes and wavy hazel tresses. She was dressed in customary black mourning, and as most of her wardrobe to my knowledge (and, undoubtedly, Holmes's observations) turned towards practical and long-lasting rather than fashionable. I had mentioned earlier her stubbornes - you may ask yourself how such a feature could fit a young lady of, dare I say, good family? Anyone who had ever met her would tell you straight away that it was due to the sweetenes and pure unselfishness of her nature, her stubborness reserved, as my friend Holmes and rest of the London were soon to find out, for causes that many would call lost.

"Sherlock, please meet my dear cousin, Miss Christine Watson. Christine, dear, this is Sherlock Holmes" I introduced her, wondering if my friend had in his excitement forgotten that we were expecting a new cohabitant, which seemed very possible to me.

"Mister Holmes" said Christine, beaming in a welcoming, bright smile. Our aunt Emily, quite stern old lady, may she rest in peace, who had taken my cousin in at the tender age of 12 to raise as a "proper young lady" has always called her a wild child and had given up the cause when Christine had reached her fifteenth year. I, however, had always found her unabashed enthusiasm endearing, and so must have Holmes, for he had returned her smile with one of his rare, honest ones.

"Miss Watson" he said in his deep baritone, which had gotten attention of our other companion Toby, who up till now had patiently lain at his mistress feet. He sat up now, head reaching my cousin's waist, and waived his tail in welcoming manner, not moving from her side, as if to say 'we may become friends, but my mistress will be always put first'. Sherlock's eyebrows raised curiously, looking at the dog. "What is it, Watson? I was not aware that we were to take in two guests."

He said it jovially, in a joking manner, but my cousin, who was predisposed more towards worry for others rather than her own fate and, I'm afraid to say, used to refusal of her previous patrons, had clasped her hands in front of her and turned pleading gaze at my friend.

"Please, Mister Holmes, this is my fault entirely! You see, I had dear Toby since he was but a pup, he is my dearest friend and I refused to leave without him. He is a very well behaved dog, I trained him myself. He had always slept in my room, and I will pay for his food on my own, I promise he won't cause any troubles, to you or anyone else" at the end of her heated speech she blushed prettily and power of her gaze grew in strength. Her furry companion must have sensed she had pleaded his case, for his gaze, as pleading as his mistress, turned toward Holmes with uncanny precision.

And here, dear readers, happened something I thought I would never witness; as a receptor of twin pair of sad eyes, Holmes seemed to have blushed himself, his mouth opening wordlessly: my vociferous friend was speechless. He fidgeted nervously in place, looking up at the ceiling to avoid the power of my cousin's eyes.

"Why of course it's not a trouble at al, Miss Watson" finaly he stammered out. "We are not monsters here, to throw out beloved pets on the street, are we not, Watson?"

"Indeed, we are not" I answered, stopping myself from chuckling. I was in no position to tease my friend having been a recipient of Christine Watson gaze in close past as well as having witnessed it being used (unknowingly) on others. It seemed to me that its power has gained my cousin another champion.

"Thank you, Mister Holmes!" She exlaimed, eyes starry, looking ready to throw her arms around my friend, which made him step back and look around in something resembling panic. He was saved by arrival of Mrs Hudson, who started to fuss over young lady immediately and informed us of her plans for welcoming dinner.

"Right, we should go, Watson... That is, John... If that's alright with you, Miss Watson, that is?" Announced my friend, clearly not having regained his equilibrium.

"Oh, please, don't mind me!" Insisted Christine while Mrs Hudson tssked in the background. "I would not want to get in the way of import and investigation. We'll settle just fine, Toby and I, there's no need to make any special effort on my part" she assured him innocently, not realising how much of her past she had revealed in a short conversation to a man as observant as Holmes, whose brows have drawn together in thoguht.

Needless to say, our case has finished in time for us to join my cousin and her beloved dog for dinner, an exception that soon were to turn into a normal occurence at 221B Baker Street.


	2. Chapter 2

Over upcoming weeks miss Chrisitne Watson had gained a veritable army of admirers, starting with Mrs Hudson (most insistent on feeding 'the poor girl'), through all of our neighbours, street sweepers, newspaper boy around the corner, and ending on various Scotland Yard inspectors. One of them, upon meeting her, ended up blushing and stammering, to my personal amusement and Holmes's irritation.

As for my friend, a fascinating change occured: he made trouble to be dressed properly at all times, considering presence of a lady in our household. His cutting deductions and usual impatience seemed to have vanished in presence of my cousin, turning into, what I would call shyness in others, and saw as a kind restrain in face of what he deduced to be a rather lonely and sad childhood. Christine had unknowingly twisted him around her little finger, showing unwomanly interest in sciences and curiosity of Holmes's methods.

Her dog, Toby, was, as ever, a watchful shadow by her side and turned out to be a very well behaved dog, indeed. In fact, he had showed such an uncommon intelligence, carrying or retrieving various items required by his mistress in a fashion that garnered mine and Holmes's attention. The latter was so fascinated that he had questioned Christine in lenght about dog's upbringing, confirming his deduction of Toby's early months as a runt of the litter, rescued only by my cousin's kind heart. Which turned out to be a last straw for my earlier mentioned aunt Emily and reason for her sending my cousin to our elderly by then uncle.

"She had insisted that I take back ' _the creature_ ' where it came from" explained Christine one evening, blushing and teary-eyed at the memory, arms thrown protectively about her furry companion. "When I refused, she called her butler to finish the deed himself and I called her... I called her..." here, she turned a deeper shade of crimson and bend her head down in shame. "It was very bad of me, I know, considering her kindness in taking me in and trying to raise me properly" she added, not noticing through her lowered lashes mine and Holmes's distraught faces at her revelations. Neither of us spoke, however, giving my cousin space to voice her feelings "but I couldn't let farmer Whitby drown poor Toby only because he was unlucky enough to be born smallest of his siblings."

Here, stuborness overcame shame, chin popping out in a familiar by now motion. Toby yawned elegantly and licked his mistress cheek, ensuring appearance of a smile on distressed face. Needles to say, in addition to his earlier comforts, Toby was granted the rights of a king in the household, being treated like a member of a family from then on.

At some point, Sherlock, very politely for him, may I add, had asked to join Christine and Toby on their afternoon walk. The permission was, of course, joyously granted and never rescinded, and whenever he wasn't busy with a case, my friend ventured out with them to observe Toby's intelligence, as he assured me. I'm sure it won't surprise you, dear reader, that when I occasionaly joined in on their rambles, detective's eyes followed my cousin as often, if not more, than Toby's tricks.

Any matron at this point will probably feel offended and start writing in her mind a letter full of admonishment and worldly advice about proximity between one's friend and a cousine one's taken under his, unfortunately, bachelor's, care. Let me assure you then, that nothing untoward has ever happened between Sherlock and Christine on those excursions. My friend's watchful gaze was always most proper and questioning in nature. I do believe in fact, that she seemed to him a riddle to solve, a curious, unknown creature, that ventured into his territory and not only remained, but seemed to flourish as well. Let me add, as a small premonition of what was to happen in our future that he was, rarely for him, as you all know, extremely surprised anout the depth and nature of his feelings for Christine Watson. But I am, again, getting ahead of the story.

As for Christine, her innocence made her unaware of any kind of attention paid towards her, a product of orphaned childhood being moved from family member to family member like unwanted gift at Christmas. A fact that, in near future, had created quite a few condundrums not only for me, but whole of Baker Street.

**Author's Note:**

> *the description of Toby the Dog comes straight from the A.C.Doyle novel


End file.
